Too Much Trouble
by authoressnebula
Summary: Post 3x16: Dean's decided to get himself out of his current situation. I decided to poke a bit of fun and make myself feel better about it all. Wee bit o' angst, but come on, think of the situation, folks. Kinda has to have some. Dean, Sam, Bobby, demons.


_A/N: The, erm, fairly crackish version of how Dean got out of Hell. Because we need to laugh, too. Hope you enjoy! leaves plate of cookies for everyone_

* * *

When he finally stopped screaming, Dean took a look around at where he was really at. Besides the creepy ass nothingness that surrounded him, no one else was screaming but him. In fact, a quick check around confirmed that yes, he was the only one here. His own personal Hell. Joy.

There was no way Sam was coming for him. Not because his brother wouldn't, because Sam would, without even thinking about it, and that was the problem. No, Dean had to deal with this himself. His dad had gotten out of hell; surely Dean could do the same thing.

The first thing he had to deal with were the hooks. One out of his right shoulder, one out of his side, and two in his legs. Fully suspended above nothingness, and if he didn't want to fall further into the nothingness, he was gonna have to be clever about this.

He decided the shoulder first. Piece of cake, no problem, he'd dealt with pain before. Except this was Hell's pain, and he found himself screaming again. The sound echoed and reverberated, and Dean thought it'd drive him mad. He resorted to cursing instead, still screaming, but it wasn't just noise, it was swear words. That he could handle. He said a few he'd never really said before for one reason or another (though those stupid Ghostfacers had driven him to lengths he'd never really reached until that point), and focused on them instead of the blinding pain.

The hook was finally out, and he gasped as he slid to the left, hanging on three hooks that pulled even more now with the weight. Great. He couldn't reach the legs with the side hook in the way, so that one went next. Then he was hanging by his legs, staring down at even more nothingness.

Hell wasn't a bundle of sunshine. He fought against the urge to scream again at the pull of the hooks in his legs, and instead began hauling himself up. The pain was worse in his left leg, so he released that one, even as he grabbed the black cord that was tied to the hook in his right. There was a brief moment of blinding pain before he hauled himself up. The hook in his right leg, he'd have to leave for now.

He had eternity, apparently; might as well start climbing. His right shoulder was useless, but his left wasn't, and he wrapped his legs around the black cord, grabbed hold with his left hand, and began a slow climb.

He had no sense of time there, but after awhile, he glanced down and found the height he'd made dizzying. Still he climbed, going sideways, then up, then cutting down to the left in his attempts to follow the cord. It seemed to go everywhere and nowhere, and Dean only gritted his teeth and kept going.

Finally the scenery began to change, and he could see a black hole above him, where all the cords seemed to be centered. He pulled up, reaching for other cords, and began to try and push his way through.

"Password."

Dean almost fell in surprise at the voice that came out of nowhere. "Excuse me?" he asked, his voice hoarse from his screams.

"Password."

"Abracadabra," he dead-panned, pushing up into the blackness again. The cords were tight, too tight to get through, and Dean fell back, glaring at the mass. "C'mon, let me out!"

"Password."

"Pass _this_, you sonuva-"

The black cord he was attached too suddenly crackled, and Dean shouted as it sent electric bolts up his leg. "Password," the sexless voice said again.

"Password," Dean replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes. The conversations you could have in Hell were-

The black cords began to thin out, and Dean blinked. Then he was hurrying through, leaving the voice and its 'password' behind. Now to get out of there.

A black void with no light at all greeted him, and he was swallowed into the darkness. "Blind leading the blind, huh?" he muttered, and jumped as his voice rebounded back to him. Hell was _creepy_.

His voice had to bounce off of something, though, so he started forward, the hook still in his right leg. He could always find his way back to his starting point that way, have an idea of where he was at least.

He walked on and on and on, his right leg giving several times but he ignored it as best he could. Hell was meant to hurt, meant to make you suffer, and Dean was fine with that, so long as hell would _end_.

His fingers finally brushed against something cold and hard, and to be able to touch anything at all made him sigh with relief. He closed his eyes and let his hand rest against it, then his forehead. He closed his eyes and breathed for a few minutes, praying that it was just this easy, that he could get out of this before Sam came down for him. All he needed was Sam getting them both into more trouble than they were already in.

The wall gave, and he yelped as he fell through, hitting a dirt red floor with a thud. "Most don't make it this far," a voice greeted him, and Dean glanced up at a gray form towering over him. "Especially not those to whom we send into the Abyss."

Dean sent his best withering glare ahead of his words. "Yeah, well, I was always special like that."

"You will be sent back, though," the voice continued, and the form almost shrugged. It reminded him eerily of a mime, with someone else speaking for it. "That's the rules, of course, but I'm sure you underst-what have you _done_?" The form staggered back and away from him, staring in what had to be horror at what was behind him. Dean warily turned back to look, but all he could see was the hook in his leg and the black cord attached to it.

Well...huh. Hell was afraid of its own toys.

Dean unhooked the hook, grimacing and fighting to keep his last scream in, then pulled the hook and cord even closer. The form slid back further. "What, you don't want to play?" Dean asked, pushing himself to standing. "It's a nice hook, isn't it?"

"It is a horrible tool," the form whispered. "Saved for the worst of wretches."

"Looks like I _am_ special, after all," Dean said cheerfully, twirling the hook in his hand. "You wouldn't mind holding this for me, would you?" he added, reaching out with his hand and letting the hook casually fly up with the movement. The form shrieked and slid away into nothing.

Dean stared at moment longer, then shrugged and followed in the direction it had gone. Better than nothing.

More forms were scattered to the left and right of the dark, red stone hallway he was traveling down, and each one shied away with a shriek. Soon there was nothing but the sound of wailing as they tried to get away from him and the hook.

Dean found himself smirking as he walked, whistling AC/DC as he went. He was still in pain, but pushing it away was working for the moment, and he was striding out of Hell like it was-

Then the floor dropped out from underneath him, and Dean gasped as he fell for the umpteenth time. "C'mon, let me _out_ already, dammit!" he growled, not even bothering to look around the room. There was fire, and a lot of it.

"We're planning on it."

Dean did glance up at that, and saw a young woman standing in front of him, looking...pretty pissed, actually. "Just like that?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "You're letting me go?"

"We warned Lilith not to keep your soul, because we were still suffering from the damage of the _first_ Winchester who wandered down to Hell." She glared at him, tossing black hair over her shoulder. "Your father made a mess of everything when he fought to climb out."

Dean couldn't help but grin at that, and it only pissed her off further. "Then, there's the very real threat that your brother is going to come in after you," she said, and Dean's grin faltered. "And that's not something we really want to deal with right now. So yes, you're being let go."

Huh. Looked like Sammy held a lot more weight then they'd ever considered. "So...how do I make my way home?"

She stepped back and said nothing, and then he was falling again, past the red dirt room, past the black nothingness, past the void he'd started in, and then he landed with a gasp on something hard. He screamed, or he thought he did, but realized the sound wasn't coming from him.

It was coming from Sam from across the room, who was staring at him in shock.

A door flew open, and Bobby came running with a shotgun in hand. He slid to a halt at the sight of Dean, staring now as open mouthed as Sam was. "_Dean_?" Bobby managed.

Dean cleared his throat and glanced around as he sat up slowly. Back in the house they'd trapped Ruby in...how long ago had that been? He winced as he propped himself up on his arms, then gave a small grin. "Hey honey, I'm home," he said.

Sam's eyes rolled up into his head right before he fell to the floor. Dean cringed at the hard thud, but there really wasn't anything he could do about that right now. His right shoulder hurt like a _bitch_, and he wasn't sure whether that had been the hook or where the hound had gnawed on him.

Bobby rolled his own eyes, but they were out of exasperation and what had to be relief. "Glad you survived with your humor intact," he muttered, heading over to pull Sam up. When he glanced at Dean, though, there was an honest to god smile on his face. "Damn but it's good to see you," Bobby said, and the smile didn't even falter as he asked, "How'd you get out?"

"Apparently, I'm too much trouble," Dean said, shrugging. "Also, I get the feeling they're not too keen on Lilith. Add on top of that the fact that they were afraid of Sam coming in and declaring war-"

"That was actually becoming a quick possibility," Bobby said sourly, turning a glare on the Winchester who was still out for the count. He reached over to the table Sam had apparently been sitting at, grabbing a water bottle and opening it. "I warned him not to, but your brother wasn't going to leave you down there."

"That's what I was afraid of," Dean said, groaning as he tried to move his legs. "Dammit, did they decide I was their personal chew toy or something?"

"Patched you up as best we could, but you've been _dead_, Dean, for a couple of days. Makes the healing process a lot tougher."

Bobby took the water bottle and splashed the contents on Sam's face, not looking apologetic in the slightest when Sam sputtered and came to suddenly. Dean didn't blame him; if he could've gotten over there to do it, he'd have slapped Sam hard before he hugged the ever living shit out of him.

He'd just gotten himself out of Hell; he figured he was totally due a hug or three.

Sam blinked through the droplets, then started staring at Dean again. "How…?" he whispered hoarsely. Kid looked like shit, and Dean narrowed his gaze.

"Hell'd had enough of me, tossed me back to the land of the living which, by the way, is a good thing because apparently, you can't take care of yourself. What the hell've you been sleeping on? A _rock_? You look like crap, Sam."

Sam continued to stare, and Dean rolled his eyes and raised his arms as best he could. "Dude, if you're gonna hug me, get over here, because there's no way I'm gonna get over to you anytime-"

Then Sam was hugging him like a complete girl, but he was being careful with it so as not to put pressure on any wounds. Dean closed his eyes then and held onto Sam as tight as Sam obviously wanted to hold onto him. "You're okay?" Sam asked, sounding on the verge of tears.

It _was_ a pretty heady thing, what Dean had managed to do, and he still wasn't sure how he'd done it. But he was out, Sam was still alive, and they could deal. "I'm fine, Sammy. Promise." He leaned back then, raising his eyebrows at Sam. "You take care of my baby?"

Slowly Sam began to chuckle. "Yeah, she's fine, Dean. Hell probably didn't keep you because you're high maintenance, you know that?"

"My baby's a classic, and deserves the finest of care. Oh, did you tape my shows? Dude, they left this one on a cliffhanger-"

Sam was laughing outright now, probably more out of relief and joy then amusement, and Dean rattled on, not caring because he was _out_, dammit, and it was _over_.

Him and Sam, happy and alive, and that hadn't been too much trouble to bring about, had it?

END


End file.
